


Coping Methods - Eliot Waugh Style

by aceofwhump



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Eliot has a nightmare, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag 1x08 Strangled Hearts, Fear, Gen, Nightmares, Post 1x09 The Writer's Room, Self-Hatred, Shivering, Worry, could be seen as queliot, shaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 16:04:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofwhump/pseuds/aceofwhump
Summary: Eliot’s been coping with the last few weeks through his usual methods: drugs, sex and alcohol. But that only works for so long before it all comes rushing back to him. Quentin hears Eliot screaming in the middle and learns that he hasn't been doing as well as he thought with the death of Mike. Takes place in between 1x09 the Writers Room and 1x10 Homecoming.





	Coping Methods - Eliot Waugh Style

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt fill for my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card on tumblr.
> 
> For @friendlylocalwhumper who asked for "Eliot Waugh" and "Shaking and Shivering"

It had only been a couple of weeks since that night. The night he murdered Mike. Eliot had been trying everything he could think of to distract himself from thinking about it. Drinking, drugs, sex. Their “adventure” at the Plover House provided a brief distraction, albeit a horrifying and deeply disturbing one. Honestly it was a terrible distraction. Really fucked up that Fillory guy. But the distractions only last for so long. Eventually he always starts thinking about Mike again.

Mike…He had been so foolish. Of course the one person he had opened up to, whom he shared exactly who he was, was possessed by a magical, murdering dickwad. He wasn’t real. Whoever Mike was, whatever he had felt for Eliot, wasn’t real. It didn’t mean anything.

But it had. It had been real for Eliot. He had never felt that way about another person before. Mike was the first person he could truly say he loved. Margo hadn’t understood him when he said he wanted to be with him and only him. No more sleeping around. He loved Mike. He wanted to be with Mike. Margo said he was being stupid and that he didn’t know Mike at all. He’d only just met the guy. In the end, he guessed Margo was right. He didn’t know Mike. Not at all.  
  
Eliot downed his glass of whiskey in one swallow and poured himself another glass. He’d lost count of how many glasses he’d had at this point but the thoughts and images kept coming. He kept seeing Mike’s head bent at an unnatural angle. He kept feeling his soft skin, the taste of his lips on his own, the magic sparking in his fingers as he snapped Mike’s neck. He could see Mike’s face covered in blood, smell his cologne and hear his laugh.

Eliot abandoned the glass in favor of drinking straight from the bottle in front of him. Taking a long swallow from one and grabbing two more bottles without looking at what type of alcohol he was taking, he made his way from the bar to his room. He wasn’t in the mood for partying.

——————————-

Quentin returned to the Physical Kids Cottage some time after midnight. After yet another day of trying to figure out what happened to Penny, he was exhausted. As per usual at the cottage, he was greeted by the sounds of raucous laughter and inebriated antics. Normally he’d seek out Eliot and have a drink or three but he was too tired. All he wanted was to go upstairs and collapse on his bed.

Without more than a glance around the room, Quentin trudged upstairs to his room. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

——————————-

Quentin jerked awake to the sound of screaming. It took him a moment to shake the post-sleep disorientation and realize that the screaming was very real and not some sort of lingering effects of a dream he was having. It was coming from down the hall.

Quentin threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. As he threw open his door another scream echoed out. It sounded like it was coming from Eliot’s room.

Quentin felt his heart drop to his stomach in fear. Thinking only of Eliot’s safety, he flew down the hall, barefoot and in his pajamas. Eliot was in danger. Nothing else mattered but getting to his room.

As he approached Eliot’s door the screaming grew louder. Several other students had stumbled out of the room in confusion and fear but Quentin paid them no attention. He tore open Eliot’s door ready to fight but what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

There was no monster. No Beast. No danger. Just Eliot who was in the middle of what seemed to be one horrific nightmare. He was thrashing around on his bed, limbs flailing. When he wasn’t screaming, his voice tampered down to strained whimpers and moans.

Quentin ran to Eliot’s thrashing body and grabbed hold of his flailing arms. He tried to pin him down so he didn’t hurt himself (or accidentally punch him while he tried to wake him up).

Eliot screamed again as Quentin tried to keep him still making Quentin’s heart broke into a million pieces. _What the hell was he dreaming about!?_

“Eliot, wake up! You’re having a nightmare!” he shouted. “Eliot! Please! Wake up!!”

Suddenly, Eliot’s eyes flew open and he shoved Quentin away from him making them both topple off the bed and crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Quentin groaned and rubbed the back of his head where it had banged against the bed as he fell.

“Oh god, Q. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Oh god, I killed you. No no no no! There’s so much blood. So much blood.”

The frantic sound of Eliot’s voice brought Quentin’s attention back to his friend. He was sitting on the ground where he fell, hunched over and shaking, staring at his hands with a look of complete horror on his face. His eyes were wide and he was chanting under his breath, “it’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.”

“El?” Quentin reached out to comfort him but Eliot flinched away violently and skittered away until he was pressed tightly into the corner of the room staring at Quentin with wide, terror filled eyes. Tremor after tremor coursed through his body. He glanced quickly at something over Quentin’s shoulder before returning to Q’s face.

Turning around, Quentin saw the students who had been woken up by Eliot’s screams also came to investigate. Quentin stood and marched over to the door. “Everything’s fine. Go back to bed,” he said before slamming the door in their faces. Eliot didn’t need them witnessing this.

Eliot brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms underneath his long legs in order to form a tight, protective ball. His face was hidden in his knees and Quentin could see tremors coursing through his body.

“El? It’s okay El, it was just a dream. You’re safe. It wasn’t real,” Quentin tried to reassure Eliot as he reached out and touched his shoulder. His fingers only just grazed Eliot’s shirt before he jerked away from his touch.

Quentin backed up a bit, hands raised in surrender, trying to give Eliot some space, “Easy, El. It’s just me. It’s Quentin. Can you look at me?” Eliot didn’t move. He just continued to shake, violent shivers that coursed through his whole body.

“Eliot?” There was no response from him. “Okay that’s cool. We can uh we can just sit here. Take your time. I’m right here.”

Quentin had never seen him like this before. Eliot was always the strong confident upperclassman. He’d never seen him this terrified before. God, he wished Margo was here. She should be here and not in Ibiza. She’d be able to help him, get through to him somehow.

At a lost for how to help, Quentin did the only thing he could think of. He sat down next to Eliot. Close enough that Eliot knew he was there but far enough that Eliot had the space he desired. And he waited, quietly offering support until Eliot had calmed down.

A few minutes past by, feeling like hours, before Eliot spoke, “You should go back to bed, Q.”

Quentin jumped at the soft sound of his friends ragged voice, “Eliot! Hey. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he said as he uncurled his stiff limbs and rubbed the evidence of tears away from his face, his hand shaking as he did. He was still trembling but it had seemed to calm a bit from earlier.

“Eliot. You are not fine. You were screaming and shaking and…”

“It was just a bad dream, Q. I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

“Just a bad dream. Sure it was. Bad enough it left you a shaking mess. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly,” Eliot rose and stumbled over to the nearest bottle of alcohol he could find. Bringing it to his lips he took a long drink and swayed.

“Come on, El. You can’t just drink it away. Talk to me.”

Eliot paused debating about saying something or taking his drink and going somewhere far away, “It was different this time.”

“What was different?” Quentin said quietly, rising off the floor and moving closer to Eliot.

“The dream. Usually…..usually it’s Mike. Always Mike. But this time,” he paused, hesitant to say more.

“This time?” Quentin encouraged.

Eliot turned slightly and looked at Quentin, turmoil swimming in his eyes. He went to look for a bottle of alcohol, any alcohol. Before he could take a drink, Quentin snatched the bottle out of his hands.

“Hey, no. No more of that Eliot. You’ve had enough. Just talk to me. What was different about this dream?”

“….It was you. I….I killed you, Q.”

Quentin was stunned. Eliot saw the opportunity and took the bottle from Quentin’s stunned hands and took another very long swig.

“Shit. El. I..–”

“It’s always Mike. The situation changes from dream to dream but it’s always Mike and I always snap his neck like a twig. But this time it was you. You were standing there and… and you were going to kill Fogg so I…I killed you.” Emotions overwhelming him, he turned away from Quentin and ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair.

Quentin swore to himself and looked at Eliot’s back, “I’m sorry.”

Eliot huffs out a laugh, “Why the fuck are you sorry Q? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m sorry because you’ve been dealing with this alone and that I hadn’t noticed how bad it’s gotten,” Quentin said, grasping Eliot’s arm before he could take yet another drink. He could feel him shivering still. Slight tremors that made his arm shake slightly.

“You shouldn’t worry about me Quentin. In fact, you should probably stay away from me. It’s safer that way.” Eliot pulled his arm out of Quentin’s grasp and plopped down on the bed dejectedly, a bottle of scotch hanging from his fingertips. 

Quentin sat down next to him, “I’m not gonna stay away from my best friend. I know you’re hurting right now Eliot but it’s gonna get better. I promise. How about I stay here tonight? We could just hang out. Talk or whatever.”

Eliot glanced at Quentin and a small smile grew, “No talking. Just drinking.”

Quentin smiled back and took the scotch from him.


End file.
